


What I Did On My Summer Vacation

by fadeverb



Series: Leo [3]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in Hell without a vessel? No problem! The War has plenty of job openings for self-motivating, proactive demons. Apply at the nearest recruiting station today!</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Did On My Summer Vacation

The border check has gone remarkably quickly. This would please me more if I wanted to cross this border. I hoped for delay and red tape, maybe a few rounds of being sent back to have the paperwork updated. There was the faint possibility that if this were enough of a hassle, someone would change his mind. But after five minutes of half-hearted stalling to see if I'll offer a bribe, the Shedite stamps my passport and waves me along.

I cross the line, and step into Gehenna.

This section of the Principality holds an uneasy silence, the bustle of the border station fading with every step I take. Scorched buildings tower around me, blasted and broken from whatever battle churned through here last. Demonlings skulk in the shadows, but no one with a purpose lingers here; a uniformed Impudite shoves past me on the street to hurry towards his destination.

I can't help cataloguing the design of the buildings as I pass. A hodge-podge of styles, minimally functional, slapped together. Most of the styles date back no more than three decades. Whoever put these buildings together--I wouldn't call them "designed"--worked from what he knew, taking nothing into account but how the place would stand against attack.

Not well. There are holes everywhere. Or maybe it was designed to test the effects of some new weapon.

The sky over the far buildings lights up, a white flash against the dull red sky, subsides to red against slowly. I move faster, wings shivering behind me in tune to the heavy vibrations breaking through the silence. I can't hear what's coming, but I can feel it, and this is no Principality to stroll through. Not my home territory, not any place I know.

Whoever put together my information packet was cruel; it's coherent, detailed, thorough. I couldn't fail to find my destination if I tried, and right now I'm tempted to do just that.

Pity I'm not stupid. I know where I'd end up if I disobeyed orders.

The walk passes without attacks. A few Servitors of the War stare, but my Prince's servants aren't unknown here. I'm already tired of the place, othe uniforms and bloody smell and the thrum of distant weapons. Twisted plants grow at the edges of the road, and spinning out my resonance to pull them apart makes me feel...not better, but more coherent. I'm still myself, Calabite to the core, in the footsteps of my Prince. Even if he has loaned me out. It's only temporary. That's what the papers say.

They say "indefinite," which is not comforting. But that's not the same as a transfer.

The road leads me to a hulking fortress, an imposing series of gray walls around sturdy interior bunkers. Charming. I'll bet you can't get good barbecue anywhere inside. Two heavily-armed demons stand guard at the gates. Who's there to guard against, in Baal's own Principality? It's nothing but games, war games to set everyone in here against each other to please the same Prince. Slaughter your fellow Servitors and get a pat on the head for proving your worth.

I present my papers to the guards, and the Habbalite reads them while the Shedite keeps its weapons trained on me. "You're transferring here, then," the Habbie says, when it passes back the papers.

"Temporarily." Which means I'm of no great use for anyone else's success, except as a stepping stone, and unlikely to be much avenged if I'm taken out in a power play. I don't belong here.

"An escort will take you to the commander." So they're worried about letting someone with perfectly good paperwork wander alone through their sturdy fortress full of armed. If I've stepped into the middle of someone's power-play, I'll be safest stepping right back out. "Wait here."

I wait politely, hands where they can see them, and resist the urge to destroy the landscape in a creative manner. Let's not annoy the trigger-happy demons while they have weapons pointed at me. I further resist engaging them in chit-chat, because while I could think of entertaining conversations to have, again with the trigger-happy.

A Lilim arrives as my escort. Wouldn't expect one of those to be doing tour guide work, not when they start at nine Forces and can bargain for a good deal from the Princes they serve. I don't know her insignia to tell what rank she's made. She nods to me. "This way."

Bulbs that hiss and fizz light the inside of the fortress. How reassuring. I dislike depending on technology; it always breaks down, usually while I'm holding it. Which I can't blame entirely on the technology--being a Calabite has its disadvantages--but I'd prefer to rely on something...well. Reliable. Which VapuTech never is, no matter what their sales brochures claim.

"The commander. Is down here." The Lilim has trouble speaking clearly, and when she looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes don't quite focus on my face. "I'm taking you there."

"That you are." She walks slowly enough to make me impatient, but if I go wandering alone, we're back to that trigger-happy issue. "Let me guess. Lost a few Forces recently."

"I was taking a message. Outside the General's territory. They attacked me from behind." Her hands twist in the air. "It wasn't honorable."

"Effective, though."

"Yes. Effective." For all that she seems to have lost a few Ethereal Forces, she leads me through the corridors without hesitation. "I can't. Fault them for that. Effective."

The commander's office displays more function than comfort, heavy furniture and locked boxes with no decorations. Correction, no decorations on the wall; the commander has a line of medals across his lapel. Captain Savas, and by the looks of it, a Calabite himself. So one doesn't have to be a Balseraph to be promoted within Baal's ranks. It simply helps.

He waves away the Lilim, puts out a hand for my paperwork. "No vessel, then."

"Not at the moment." Thank you _ever_ so much for that, Regan.

"It happens. Dissonant, I see. Word or Band?" He gestures towards a seat, and I take it promptly. I don't know how to stand at attention. Or at ease. Or however else soldiers stand. I'm _happy_ being a civilian. Civilians don't get in trouble for fleeing danger.

"Word."

"What fire did you walk into?" He watches my face, not the papers.

Either they haven't given him a report, or he wants to see how I'll spin what he knows. The former seems unlikely. "A building wired to explode. Ideally, not on me, but Balseraphs can be convincing."

"Can't they just." He drops the paperwork into a tray. "There's a speech I give to new recruits here at the base. Honor, responsibility, following orders, that kind of thing. I don't think I'll bother going over that with you, Leo. You're experienced enough to know how to do your part, and you wouldn't care about honor, so I see no reason to waste our time."

I spread my hands. "I can take orders."

"I'm sure you can." He tilts his chair back, hands folded on the desk. "If I tell you to do something... You're not stupid. You'll do what I ask. Whether you'll do it quickly and competently, I have yet to see. If you want to see Earth duty again, put some effort into impressing me. A Calabite of Fire can be useful, but I don't have time for slackers."

I spent sixteen-hour days working on projects that never came to completion because of a Discordant Cherub rampaging through my city. I don't think "slacking" is a problem I've had. Never would have made it to Earth in the first place if I were so stupid as to take a lackadaisical approach to tasks I was given. (I was also inspired to strive for greatness by an intense desire to escape the Habbalite I was serving. Whatever gets it done.) Am I going to protest that I'm a hard worker? No, I am not. I nod and put on my best attentive face.

The Captain considers me, but continues. "You're not one of ours, so you don't know the rules. I'm putting you under a junior officer's supervision until you've learned the ropes."

"...Regan."

"They said you were smart. The Lilim will show you the way." A brisk wave tells me it's time to stand up and move for the door. "Oh, Leo. One more thing."

I turn from the doorway. "Yes?"

Down on my knees coughing up blood. It's been years since I was hit by another Calabite's resonance. I wipe my mouth, get back to my feet. All of my insides are trying to pull apart.

"Appropriate form of address for your commander includes a 'sir', Leo. 'Captain' is also acceptable." He smiles, and waves me out. "Study up on the military command structure."

The brain-broken Lilim outside tilts her head when she sees me. "Shouldn't. Make him angry," she says. "Let's go."

I stay close to her. "I don't think he was so much angry as making a point."

"He's a good commander." Her uniform hangs a little on her, as if she were once larger. "He watches out. For his soldiers."

"I'm sure he does." All of his soldiers, useful tools to keep in good condition. I'm not one of them. I'm a borrowed tool, and while Belial might be annoyed if they broke me carelessly, it's more convenient than breaking their own Servitors. I have one ally here: I cannot afford to annoy her. (No matter how much I want to hurt her for what she did.) Acquiring more allies will be difficult; I've never been good at sociability with other demons. It's easier to lead humans to thinking what I want.

Maybe I have a chance with a brain-damaged demon. "What's your name?"

She has to check her dog-tags to answer. "Yejide."

"So, tell me, Yejide." I can still taste blood in my mouth. "Who's the Captain expecting an attack from?"

"I don't know. Someone else." The Lilim plays with the tags for a moment before tucking them back inside her uniform. "Soon."

I let this percolate in my head as we walk; she doesn't offer more conversation, so it's a quiet journey, despite the mutter of conversation from rooms we pass. There's no way I can earn my Prince's favor back while playing war games here. So, getting a vessel and back to Earth. Impress the commander. Fine. I can do that. I'm not the sort to fawn over the demons who supervise me, but he doesn't strike me as the sort who wants that. I can be efficient and competent if that's what it takes to get out.

A light bulb pops into a shower of glass over the two of us, and Yejide snaps around, a pistol out of her holster faster than I would have expected. Her eyes have lost all their fuzz, staring out along the corridor.

Three breaths, and she puts the gun away again. "Only the lights. They break." She continues down the hallway as if nothing happened.

We pass through an open area, crisscrossing bars blocking out the sky above, where imps and gremlins drill under the gaze of a Djinn who can't have more than eight Forces. A slimy imp with too many arms turns to watch us as we pass, and receives a blow from the Djinn. The Lilim strides slowly ahead, never once looking around. Not enough mind left to think of anything but her task.

She takes me upstairs, to a place with light bulbs that fizz less and doors spaced for private quarters, not wide rooms of bunks to cram in dozens of demonlings. "Careful," she says, and knocks on the door. Waits there staring at me until the door opens, then walks off without clarifying. Thanks, Yejide. I'll keep that vague warning in mind.

"Leo," says Regan. Smugly. And she is beautiful.

I close the door behind me. It has long been clear to me that I'm a sucker for Balseraphs. But how could I not be? There's nothing human in their forms, nothing broken, not a single line less than perfect. When she shifts in her coils the light turns her black scales a deep, dark green. Each of her wings has a perfection of form I've seen nowhere else. The grays in her eyes swirl with subtle gradations, she is _beautiful_ , and this is the first time I've seen her celestial form where it properly belongs, inside Hell.

"You bastard," I say. "You _killed_ me."

"It was an excellent plan." She shifts out of the way as I advance. This room isn't large, smaller than the living room to my last apartment, but that she has it to herself speaks of her rank here. "We achieved the mission objectives with a minimal loss of vessels."

"As one of the minimal losses, I don't find this satisfying." I drop onto the bunk at the back of the room. "Did I mention the part where I now have dissonance rattling through me? What with getting toasted by my own explosion. As you made me do."

"It was an honorable sacrifice." I could watch her all day, the way a subtle ripple passes through her entire body. "It ended well. You're here now."

"Here. Without a vessel, and how do I earn one from a Prince not my own? He doesn't have any reason to think of me, or waste his resources on me." Unspoken but obvious: I want to get back to Earth, and you're the reason I'm not there now.

"You've done him a service." Her six eyes blink in three successive pairs, a tiny waterfall of annoyance. "Even if not by your choice. I've told the Captain that you're suitable for returning to Earth duty, and he'll pass on the same to the General unless you muck things up entirely." Her head flicks in close to me, and I'm out-eyed by her. "Don't. I asked for you to come here, I _told_ them you were competent, and I will not be shown wrong in front of these people."

So I'm not the only one in a precarious position. Alas, neither am I so self-destructive I'd screw myself over to get back at her."I'm not a soldier, Regan, but if you think I'm so incompetent I'd embarrass you--"

"Of course not." She draws her head back for an indignant sniff. "I wouldn't have asked for you if you weren't clever." Any other day I'd take that as a compliment; today, I'd prefer fewer. "I had them send up a uniform for you to change into. You look an absolute mess in that."

"Tromping through bloody mud--or was it muddy blood? I couldn't tell--will do that to a guy." I kick off my boots. No wonder all the floors are concrete. "I'm still not a Servitor of the War, Regan. I'm only on loan. A uniform wouldn't be appropriate."

"Temporarily or otherwise," Regan says, with a ripple to suggest she believes in the otherwise, "you serve the Prince of the War. Dress appropriately." 

"Fine." I bite off several less charitable comments. It would only do me harm to annoy Regan at this point. Which goes double for the commander of this place; the Captain wouldn't have reached his Distinction without being dangerous. And not of the frothing kind, from evidence. I have to admire a Calabite with that precise sense of timing. "Give me a minute alone and I'll put it on."

Regan tilts her head at me. "You want me to...leave the room?" She sounds more amused than offended. "I've seen you naked before. You've seen both vessels I've had, and my true form."

"So let the surly Calabite have a few moments of being disgruntled, okay?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She darts forward, faster than I ever am, to settle her coils around me. It's beautiful and strange, to be surrounded by her smooth scales. "What, are you more fond of your vessel than your true form?"

"It's...not quite that." There's no way I'm getting out of this now, not with half a Balseraph settled around me, so I tug off my jacket, toss it onto the floor. "I'm just not so pretty as you are in this form."

"Of course not. You're not a Balseraph. I like you anyway." That's a Serpent's idea of affection. I'll take what I can get.

I pull off my shirt, and feel Regan's coils go still around me. This was to be expected. "Something the matter?"

"You have the sigil of your Prince cut into your shoulder." She's only choosing to mention one of the symbols back there. It is the largest of them, at that.

"Burned, Regan. Everything but the lines on my chest were burned." The flames of Sheol don't touch Baal's Servitors, but the flames of one of his Knights may touch any underling as she chooses. "What, you haven't seen worse?"

Her tongue flicks against my back, tracing all the pretty patterns and words and symbols. The rows of dots where I pulled out every ring, splashed my own resonance against them to dissolve them into dust. Never dared to do it to my own back. Too afraid of cutting deeper. "On Habbalah, Leo. You're not one of _them_."

"I used to run errands for one." I drop the shirt on the floor, try not to shiver as she whips her head around to read what's been carved across my chest. "Took out all the piercings once I had the chance, but the rest aren't going anywhere until someone with more power removes them. Why should anyone bother? They don't slow me down any. It's only scars."

"From the Habbalite you served." Regan's voice worries me. She's of the opinion that she's the only one allowed to get me injured or killed. It's almost endearing.

"It was before I met you, Regan." Drop the subject, please drop the subject.

"Nonetheless."

"Did I mention she's a Captain of the Eternal Fire?"

Regan twists herself around until her teeth can rest along my shoulder. Waits there until I've gone completely still, and then whispers in my ear, "Some day I'll be a Captain myself, Leo. And I have a very long memory."

She has a long memory for grudges, but she's easily distracted by fresher fights. I have plenty of time yet to keep my girlfriend from twisting herself into pointless conflict. "Look on the bright side. I ever lose my head, you'll have no trouble identifying the body."

"I have no intention of letting you die." She smirks at my look. "Permanently. Vessels come and go as the situation demands."

"Your brand of comfort always makes my day a little brighter, Regan."

"Of course it does. You know you're in good hands." She chuckles in my ear. "In good coils. I have free time. I'll use it here." Her body shifts around me, pushes me down on my back. "Afterwards I'll tell you about how I was rewarded for that job. Not that one does such things for the reward, but when one is offered..." She hisses out a happy Balseraph sigh. "I'll tell you all about it later."

"You could tell me about it now." Or let me sit up so that I can put on that stupid uniform and not think about scars that don't matter.

"Not yet." Regan's wings spread out above me, blocking the light. "I have you right where I want you. Finally. It's taken me a long time to bring you here." Her head slides forward, resting on my shoulder, while her coils wrap around me from ankles to waist. "It would have been sooner if I hadn't lost my first vessel. Now that we've each lost one... We're even, I'd say. Wouldn't you?"

Well, let me see. I'm in the middle of Gehenna, surrounded by Servitors of the War, and the only person here likely to give a damn if I survive or not wants to know if I've dropped old grudges. While I'm pinned down with her teeth next to my throat. Let me think about this. "Fair enough."

"I knew you'd see it my way. People usually do." Only a Balseraph could say that with a complete lack of guile. Scales slide against my cheek. "Did you know you buzz? Not a sound, but a feeling. Like distant artillery fire. I can taste the entropy."

"It's what I'm like." I've never been a gremlin, never anything but the Calabite my Prince made me to be. Where would I be now, if Regan didn't find me intriguing? Back at my office working on another design for low income housing, at a restaurant pretending to be human, in my apartment staring at the television screen, walking across the burning plains of Sheol--

Her coils shift, wings swinging down around me. That's another stretch of Balseraph laid across my wrists now, while her head slides against my shoulder. "You're reliable. That's one of the things I like about you. You might not always support me as well as you ought, but I know you're not going to try to stab me in the back." Do I detect a trace of threat in that?

She's right, though. I wouldn't dare stab her in the back. She'd hunt me down and return the favor a few times over. "You know me too well."

"I know what's mine." She slides her coils off my legs. "Finish undressing. I only have so much break time."

There are a few areas in which I've always done what Regan told me to, and this is one of them. Getting my pants off with most of a Balseraph curled around my chest is only slightly more difficult than the equivalent move when we're both wearing vessels. Regan settles back onto me before my pants hit the floor, weight pushing my legs apart and curling up along my stomach. "Regan--"

"Shut up, Leo." One perfect fang presses against my shoulder for an instant, never breaking the skin. "You have better uses for that mouth than talking right now."

In celestial form, Regan doesn't have hands. Doesn't need them. I can't stray far from where she wants me so long as her scales always press me back into place, can't see anything but what her wings pull back to let me. All her scales sleek and solid against me, flexing somewhere underneath, nothing at all like her vessel, nothing like that Habbalite's body. I untangle one arm from beneath her knots (I can't see where she is or where I am with one soft-leathered wing laid across my face so precisely) to drag up along...her back, her front, I can't see or feel the difference, but a ripple moves from her head to the tip of her tail.

A thin, dry tongue flicks underneath my chin. "Right where I want you," she says, and for a moment it's her vessel's seeming there, lips pressed against mine. "Right where you belong."

My hand goes looking for a shoulder, finds smooth scales to skitter fingernails against. I hate my true form, hate its human look and human pieces, no more illusions while I'm out of my vessel. I've gotten home, now I want to go /back/, before I think about this for too long. (My psych courses are whispering terms in my ears, but I can ignore them perfectly well, I always have before as convenient. Those theories are only relevant for humans anyway.) I pull back, feel my horns scraping against the wall. There. Not human.I may hate my own form, but it's not human, my wings twitching under all the pressure to remind me of this.

Regan rears back, head hovering over me with all her wings stretched out around her (the ones to the right twisted back and still brushing against the wall, not quite enough room for the full glory), and I prop myself up on my elbows, let my own wings unfurl behind me. "Tell me the truth, Leo."

"I always do." Her wings curve down as my strain up around me, wingtips brushing each other for a moment. "You're beautiful."

"And you're mine." Back down on top of me, links of Balseraph holding me flat while the tip of her tail plays at my feet. Her resonance presses against me, giving me the truth of her personal symphony. She'd collar and leash me if she could, drag me towards the prizes she can see waiting for her, believe the whole way it was a kindness for me. "Always and ever and entirely mine."

I let her words wash into me, let them hint at my mind, but I will not let them be the truth. "Yours," I say. My legs twist below me, can't see but only feel what she's doing there, all her fine scaled form settling down around me.

"I like you when you can't run away," Regan says, and she is over me around me inside me surrounding me

my own symphony, entropy and fire ever pushing me on, peels back against the onslaught

all the music of life has one refrain, truth and the war, and this refrain screams in my ears, spreads through me, flames bending away from the march and triumph, entropy slicing out to envelop her and finding itself grappling with the ultimate confidence of knowing everything she says is always

everything I say is always

there are drums and there is marching, and in my ears the truth

Reality snaps back around me. I feel Force-tattered, as if I've been pulled near to breaking and allowed to fall back together carelessly. Regan swirls around me, a rumbling hiss in my ear. "I like how you taste."

I can't speak yet. Not the same as what the Habbalite used to do, none of the insane scream of strength and punishment ripping through my soul, but with that one I had the fire to keep me warm. Regan's personal symphony plays more loudly than my own. I don't want to be part of that. I don't want to give up my flames for the drums.

She finally slides off me, loops herself neatly together into a sleek spire of grace and thoughtfulness. Watches me as I pull on the uniform that marks me as one belonging to the War, for all that I'm not, I am _not_ part of that. "There will be more time later," she says. "For taking longer. Or other things."

"I'm sure there will be." These boots fit less well than my old ones, but they're better made. I'll break them in. Wear anything for long enough, and it'll shift for you, or you'll learn to cope. "So, tell me. For that mission that you pulled off so neatly. What did he give you?"

"A tenth Force," she says. She slides down to the floor, one wing brushing me as she goes. "Corporeal. The next time I face down Malakim..." Her smile is sharp and bright. Or perhaps that's only her teeth.

"Never would have guessed." I should have known. She'll advance in her blaze of ambition, while I'll remain as I am. Perhaps I'll tag along several steps behind, given a scrap of reward to make me more useful to her. What can mere Servitors do against the will of our Princes? Nothing at all. "I'm told you're supposed to show me the ropes, and generally keep me out of trouble."

Her smile turns sweeter and colder. "I'll show you everything."


End file.
